What Ifs' and 'If Onlys'
by Maymerz the Mighty
Summary: Two children went to the lake one day...only one came back. Samwise reflects on an alternate past and what's left of this world's future...and how it could have been different...
1. Crimson Past, Blackened Future

'What Ifs' and 'If Onlys'

A/n: Yeah, for some reason none of these characters belong to me. It just never seems to change, no matter how hard I try ;) Oh, and this is partly based on my limited knowledge and enormous love of the play "The Diviners". Go Nick, you're going to smoke 'em at SETC…yeehaw! Ah yes, and the usual "Please and Review" crap…just can't leave that out, now can we?

"Don't you see? The past has changed."

A small, dark figure stood silhouetted by the setting sun. He hung his head and sighed. His voice was rich and deep, thick with emotion. He continued, muffled slightly by the angle of his drooping cranium.

"He's gone. He's never coming back. They are all gone now. It wasn't supposed to be this way…why…"

The baritone cracked and the curly head of hair was lifted again. Finally, a faint light shone across his grieving features. Tears etched rivers, blurry eyes blinked rapidly, and a red nose began to run. His eyes were jade gems of pain as he stared vacantly; he was trapped in the haunting 'what ifs' and 'if onlys'. He sniffed and ran a large, gnarled hand across his grubby face.

"'Run as fast as your feet can take you…and then even faster,' they told me. I tried! Oh!" he dropped his chin to his chest again in grief. "I _tried_ so hard! But…but it was not enough. 'Find his father, would you, you daft boy.' I couldn't find him, Gaffer. I'm so sorry, but I couldn't. He was already gone. His son has gone to join him. I was too late again."

The red sun had now dipped halfway behind the glittering water in front of which the boy stood. The scarlet glow illuminated his already flushed face, which was turned the ground. He spoke now to the dirt and stones with urgency.

"'Baggins?' I asked. 'Mister Baggins?' My friends had a name for the old fellow: 'Mad Bags' if I remember. He was a pleasant gentleman. Indeed…how come the worstest of tragedies come to the nicesest people?"

The boy was almost angry now, the red smolder of the sun glinted in his eyes.

"It isn't _fair_! It's _never_ fair!" he yelled to the sky. After his outburst came another fit of sobs. His body wracked and his trembling knees at last gave way. Falling to the ground, he clenched his fists in vain. He lay there, crumpled, on the scattered clumps of dirt and dying grass until he decided he was too tired to weep any longer. With a shaky sigh he continued.

"'Mister Baggins, it's your…your…he's gone, Mister Baggins.' I don't think that it ever really mattered that I even opened my mouth-he already knew…heh," he laughed weakly. "Maybe the old fellow's not quite ordinary after all." 

Grimacing at his own joke, he lifted his eyes to the still, cold waters. Horrified, he realized that the docile waters were glowering scarlet. The blood red of the lake mesmerized and taunted the anguished boy. He whispered quietly to the deathly still waters and waited for their response. It came like a knife; chilling and sharp, cutting to the marrow of his heart. His voice trembled and he clenched his calloused fists all the tighter.

"Don't you see? He's not coming back. The past has changed. I was too late."


	2. Bilbo's Nonsense

Uncle Bilbo's Nonsense

"Frodo?"

A curly head of dark brown curls mixed with the tall, luscious Shire grass. The sun was pulsating and bright, it's drowsing heat an enemy to the young day's diligence. Already one young Hobbit had fallen prey to the tempting beckon of lethargy. Snoring slightly, he rolled over onto one side, leaving the smallest imprint of his body on the soft grass. Grasshoppers buzzed hypnotically and the birds chirped sporadically. The field was empty except for…

"Frodo Baggins!"

The small Hobbit lad shot up. He was face to knee with the intruder. He looked up to see the figure of his father, silhouetted by the sun, peering down at him. Frodo grinned sheepishly, one lock of sepia falling abruptly into his eye. Drogo stared down at his son in amazement. The boy had talent, that much he would give him. He had the talent to avoid every ounce of work possible…and then some.

"Your mother's been looking for you, Frodo. Do you know what time it is?"

The twelve-year old blushed considerably as he watched the sun for some sort of a clue. It was fairly high; probably after noon…He jumped to his feet quickly and straightened his azure tunic hastily.

"Gee, Da, I'm really sorry, I…uh…lost track of time…again…" he finished quietly and looked down at the ground in exaggerated misery. His father watched him closely before finally grinning. He reached for his boy with a rough, calloused hand.

"Come 'ere, you!" 

He grabbed the boy in a Hobbit-size noogie and Frodo couldn't help but laugh. Hearing his only son's laughter, Drogo couldn't help but laugh along with him. Then, stooping to the lad's level, he looked him in the eye. Both pairs of sparkling blue grinned back at each other like mirrors. Frodo grinned carelessly, but his father's face calmed, reflecting the seriousness of paternity.

"Listen, m'boy," Frodo leaned in closer. "Those puppy eyes might work on your mother, but they don't work on me." The boy's grin disappeared. Drogo noticed his apprehension. "But…" Hopeful gems stared into sober ones. "…let's pretend like I never found you…" Young Frodo's face was split by an enormous grin. Drogo grinned back. "Go on." He gave his son a nudge. "Put those baby blues to work. Go find your mother."

Frodo set off in a dead run for home. Drogo grinned as he watched his son race off. He intended to follow after him as soon as the lad had had an adequate enough head start, but found his path obstructed by a small, square object.

"Hmmm…and what's this?" he murmured while bending to pick the book up. He sighed. _There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale by Bilbo Baggins_ the cover read. The boy could never keep his head out of the clouds to begin with…needless to say; Uncle Bilbo was not helping at all. Drogo fingered through the book half-heartedly. Someday little Frodo was going to have to learn that Dragons and Trolls were not the life for him and the his place was in the Shire, raising a family of dozens and fattening up on the best Eastfarthing cheeses and meats available. Drogo pocketed the small book. That day would come too soon, so for now he would let his son enjoy the fantasy world. For now.


	3. Farmer Maggot's Dog

"Frodo! Frodo Baggins, where are you?"

Frodo slowed his sprint to a jog at the sound of his mother's voice. "_FRODO_!?" He winced. Oh boy, this was going to be fun. He slowed his jog into a slow walk, kicking at the stones sullenly. Suddenly a bright flash of color caught his eye.

"Perfect!" he breathed and reached down.

"There you are, Frodo!"

With a slight gasp he straightened, one tiny hobbit hand now filled. The outline of his mother could be seen marching quickly towards him down the garden path. Primula Brandybuck Baggins was a small plump woman with dark curls and green, piercing eyes. Frodo could feel those eyes boring into his forehead as she furiously approached him. He gulped and thrust his clenched hand behind his back.

"M-Mama," he began hesitantly. She had reached him now. Crossing two bronzed, strong arms she waited for his excuse. He gaped for a while searching for the most pitiful story he could come up with. Now he had it. Looking up with pleading blue pools and arched brows he began.

"Mama, I'm so, so, so sorry I'm late! See, I was walking through the field to make sure that the crop was coming along nicely…wh-which it is! Quite nice…in fact I think that this year we'll have the biggest crop _ever_!" He stopped to let this sink in, but his mother remained unimpressed. "Well…like I was saying, I was just walking through the field when all of a sudden one of Farmer Maggot's dogs came barreling out of nowhere! The big one…you know…with the dripping fangs and huge muscles like a horse." Primula couldn't help but smile. The lad had been terrified of those dogs since Maggot had ordered them after him the last time he decided to help himself to some of the Farmer's mushrooms. Somehow the dogs had a way of being anywhere and everywhere an accident happened. _I swear Mama, I was just sitting here polishing my bow when one of Farmer Maggot's dogs burst in and knocked your vase right over. You know…the dog with the missing eye and bloody mouth... _Or whenever Frodo was late. _Well, to begin, school let out kind of late. Then I walked Lily and Hufbuff to their house, which is on the other side of Buckland, remember? Well, then on my way back I saw one of Farmer Maggot's dogs chasing a poor cat down, and you know, that poor cat didn't stand a chance, so I had to help it. It was the dog that foamed at the mouth and only had three legs…_And even occasionally problems at school._ Farmer Maggot's dog ate it._

"Frodo," Primula scolded gently, her anger slowly draining from her heart. She could never be angry with her boy for long.

"I'm really sorry again, Mama, but look," Frodo revealed his hidden hand and its contents. His mother gasped and grinned.

"Oh, Frodo…flowers! How sweet!" 

Frodo grinned, quite pleased with himself. He had not only gotten out of being grounded for a week, but he had even scored points with his mother today. His grin dissipated as quickly as it had come.

"Ow! Ow!"

Primula had a firm hold on his slightly tapered lobe. Dragging him along behind her she began to walk briskly back to the small Smial in which the Baggins family lived. Frodo staggered along behind her, whimpering while she twisted his ear.

"We're already several hours late…and you still haven't packed! Come along, it's time that you put your back into it, and because you dawdled with Mister Maggot's dogs again you'll have only half the time you had this morning. Come along!"

Drogo followed them at a distance, trying to laugh as silently as he could. He watched his wife drag their son into to round doorway. He also saw his wife's best attempt at a serious expression fail as she released the boy's ear and embraced him gently. He grinned happily. He glanced at the sky to check the unpredictable Shire weather. The sky was pure blue and the air was warm. He sighed contently. Today was a perfect day…for boating, that is. The family was taking a trip to the lake for a weekend of relaxation, not that the Hobbit-life was stressful, but that the lake was relaxing. Relaxing and peaceful.


	4. Broken Water

Broken Water

"Da, Da, look, Da! I got one! I got a fish!"

"Well, look here, Primula, your son has quite a catch! Well, come on now, bring 'em in, Frodo."

A facet of pink tongue slid across the young hobbit's lips as he slowly reeled the struggling flounder towards him. Drogo watched his son's concentration with amazement; was this his own boy? Was this the little hobittling who was many times too lazy to tie his own shoes, clean the table, and, Valar forbid, reach all the way across the table for the salt? The boy was now perspiring with anxiety, but still continued to patiently lure the prize ever so slowly towards the small boat. The air was thick with humidity and suspense.

The water broke and Frodo screamed.

"I got him! I got him! You see, Mama? You see? He's bigger than Da's…" the boy was now comparing his still wriggling prisoner to the already deceased prize of his father's. The small flounder was slimy and slippery in Frodo's small hobbit hands and he struggled to keep control over it. 

"Oh!" Primula exclaimed as the flounder flopped headlong into her skirts.

"Sorry, Mama."

"Uh, Frodo?" 

Drogo pulled the flounder out of his vest pocket; it's most recent establishment of occupation. Frodo snatched at it whole-heartedly and it slid between his fingers to land on the floor of the boat.

"Sorry, Da."

"No harm done, but try to keep a hold of that fellow, we don't want his hopping back home, now do we?"

"It's a good thing you've given me something to cook with tonight, love, because we certainly would have starved to death with what your father caught…"

Frodo couldn't help but grin with pride at besting his father, but soon the fish took all of his attention again and he returned to his quest of capturing his prey.

The Bagginses looked endearingly at their son, both blue and green eyes shining with pride. Then Primula and Drogo looked at each other and grinned.

"He's your boy through and through," Primula brushed back a loose curl and tucked it behind Drogo's sculpted ear. Drogo waggled his eyebrows in his wife's direction playfully and she couldn't help but giggle and lightly bat her husband's shoulder. They looked at each other, contented with enjoying the romance brought with age and family over the antics of their youth. 

Frodo watched his parents with a disgusted face. He turned to his fishy friend, now its own deathbed, and, imitating his dying friend's expression, expressed his views on the importance of romance and the family.

"Ewwwwwwww…!"

No truer words were ever spoken.  


End file.
